


youre shallow and empty and filled with regret

by gingerbread man (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: But then again Davesprite is pretty depressing, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Probably depressing as shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/gingerbread%20man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>you're a ghost at most,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>a set of empty bones,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>when it gets cold,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>oh oh oh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>You know you could've saved him, and that's what hurts the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	youre shallow and empty and filled with regret

**Author's Note:**

> Title and the part of the description in italics are lyrics from "Holy" by PVRIS. It reminds me of Davesprite for some odd reason, so I found it fitting.
> 
> And also I fucking love PVRIS.

He isn’t your John.

Never has been.

Your John died years ago, ages ago, lead to his death by a teal-blooded troll with teeth as sharp as her wit. Your John died in a ridiculous teal suit that he alchemized. Your John never even made it to god tier. Your John died when he was thirteen, when he was still bumbling through puberty, when his limbs still didn’t quite fit right on his body and he was a mess of gangly limbs and hormones.

This John still has ebony hair and blistering blue eyes, and he still makes terrible jokes and laughs at them even if no one else does. He is the same, but oh-so different. He has windy powers. He calls you _Davesprite_ , and he thinks you’re an orange feathery asshole and probably thinks you hate him, but that just isn’t the case.

He just isn’t yours.

And it _hurts._

You could have saved your John. You found his body. You found his body, mangled and charred, but his chest was still rising and falling and he was breathing, he was _fucking breathing_ , he was still alive. And you did nothing to save him. You cried over his body and choked on your own vomit, and then you ran off like the coward you are. Like the coward you’ve always been.

You left Rose behind. You left your Rose behind. When the three years is up and you get your first glimpse of this timeline’s Rose, you know she is not yours. She still has a blonde bob and a black headband and amethyst eyes, and they still soften when she looks at you, and she still touches your shoulder delicately but she says _Davesprite_ and goddammit, you are Dave. Just Dave. _Dave Dave Dave._

Why can no one understand that?

You fly away from the reunion and find somewhere quiet, someone’s land likely, and you perch on a rock and stare into nothingness. Everyone had always thought you were such a coolkid, so cool that you were too cool for feelings, but the truth was you cared more than you let on. You did have a heart. It did beat. But it doesn’t anymore, you don’t think. Your breathing is shallow and your chest is empty and you’re filled to the brim with regret, regret because you watched your Bro die, regret because you left your Rose behind, regret because you left your Jade, regret because you could’ve saved your John, you know it you know it _you fucking know it_ , and that’s what hurts most.

It’s your fault he died. It’s always been your fault.

You loved him. You loved him so much. You loved him more than your shitty irony and your stupid fucking webcomic that wasn’t even good and your shades and _literally everything_. And when it mattered most, you left him. You left him and he died, he fucking _died_ , and he meant _everything_ to you, he was everything to you. You could have saved him, but instead you left, you backed out like a fucking coward because you are one, you always have been.

“Davesprite?”

Of course it would be him.

“Go away,” You snap. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

You don’t think he’ll listen, but he does. His footsteps aren’t audible, but you feel wind and it ruffles your feathers and you know he left.

You rip your shades off and throw them aside. They hit a nearby tree and then the ground, but they don’t crack, you knew they wouldn’t. They’re more stable and resistant than you. What a pity, a pair of sunglasses has officially become a more trustworthy companion than you.

Before you know it you’re laughing, and then you’re sobbing, and then there are tears streaming down your cheeks and wetting your feathers and why are you such a _fuck up_ , why can’t you fucking do anything right?

You’re a fucking _mistake_.

You are Davesprite, a cheap orange half-bird knockoff of Dave Strider. Dave Strider who you just saw, who hugged John and kissed him and you watched the shock on his face and the realization dawn and you were so mad, because you never got that chance and you fucking _deserved it_.

Your mid-section aches and you’re reminded of the sword that’s stuck there, of the orange blood that’s been dripping from the wound for years now, and you wish you would _fucking die_ already, why hasn’t it killed you yet? Why do you have to live? Why, why, why? Dave doesn’t need your help anymore, he’s god tier now and he’s got more important things to tend to, you were just his sprite and he doesn’t give a shit about you.

You want to sleep. You want to die. You want to do something that will let you into a dream bubble, but you can’t, _of course_ you can’t. Cheap knockoffs don’t get their wishes, do they? All they get is a life of misery and suffering.

When you sleep, you dream of nothing.

When you wake, you try to make up for your dreaming, or rather the lack thereof. You try to imagine what your John would look like by now, wandering through dream bubbles ( _alone alone alone_ a voice in your head whispers) in his teal suit, his teal suit that he died in, and it’s probably covered with soot because he was _burned in a fire_ , for christ’s sake.

And his eyes are probably milky white, but he still has a bucktoothed smile and tan skin and ebony hair and crooked glasses and he still makes stupid jokes, and he still laughs at them even if no one else will ( _because there is no one else to_ the voice chants).

And maybe he’s waiting for you, counting the hours, days, years, treading helplessly in search of you. Of you, his Dave, the one who couldn’t save him, the one who’s a fucking feathery asshole, who is nothing more than a cheap knockoff. Who everyone calls _Davesprite_ but never _Dave_ , because to them alpha Dave is the only Dave.

But your John wouldn’t care about alpha Dave, because alpha Dave is not his.

And maybe you’ll see him in a dream bubble one day, when you die, when you’re finally put out of your misery, and maybe he’ll be a little stumped that you’re half bird but he’s fucking _John Egbert_ , so he won’t even care. He will leap at you and crush you in a hug, and you’ll wrap your wings protectively around him and he’ll cry into your shoulder.

And he won’t call you _Davesprite_.

He will call you _Dave_.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me what this is.
> 
> Because I really don't know.
> 
> I mean, awful, for one. I wrote it in like twenty minutes tops.
> 
> But otherwise, I'm uncertain.


End file.
